


at the finish line, you and i

by learningcurvette



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Formula 2 RPF
Genre: Callum and Mick live rent free in my head and this happened, Fluff, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, slow burn-ish idk if a 3k fics can even say it's a slow burn, this is my comfort fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:41:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26876854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/learningcurvette/pseuds/learningcurvette
Summary: Callum watches Lewis and Sebastian, half-fascinated by how their stories unfold. From strangers who share a passion. To be close enough to consider each other friends."You think we'll be like them? British and German multiple World Champions?"Callum tears his gaze away and focuses it on Mick, "You think we can do it?"The idea of Mick imagining them, one day, being multiple world champions spreads warmth all over him. More than driving an F1 car for free practice could ever be.Mick shakes his head, his voice firm when he says, "I know so."
Relationships: Callum Ilott/Mick Schumacher
Comments: 9
Kudos: 168





	at the finish line, you and i

**Author's Note:**

> this is really just callum and mick being my favourite so i thought why not write fics about them? this is a mess you've been warned i literally forget everything about them and wrote them 180 degrees than the way they are.

"Hey," Callum greets the German as he exits the car, they're parking side by side. Rob's car is already parked there, somehow ends up being the earliest of three to arrive.

Callum shakes his head, _nerves, probably_.

Mick smiles thinly and nods in greeting, but says nothing in return.

Callum bites his lower lips, tugging it harshly, "You're nervous?"

"Are you?"

Callum shrugs, the gesture's not as confident as he would like, "No," he lies.

"Good for you. I am," Mick confesses, never breaking his stride, eyes staring ahead.

The sudden, honest admission startles Callum. He ceases walking, staring at Mick's departing figure. He doesn't expect the younger man to open up like that.

 _I'm nervous too_ , Callum wants to shout at Mick's retreating back.

He doesn't. But, the gaping pit inside Callum closes up. The sudden realisation that he's not genuinely alone comforts him more than any words.

Mick stops to look back, tilting his head, "Are you coming or not?"

There's no hint of impatience or annoyance on Mick's face, just the barest glimmer of understanding. 

Callum takes a deep breath before he runs up to the German. Callum almost misses the way Mick's body relaxes when he comes up to his side.

Almost. But, not quite.

Callum doesn't know what to make of it.

He ignores it.

He thinks of it anyway.

——

Ferrari personnel welcome him with fist bumps and a pat on the back. Callum feels at home immediately. Mick is a few feet away from him, being received even more fervently. 

Callum expects the jealousy to arise, but Mick looks so happy, laughing widely with the engineers, looking his age for once. Unburdened with talks of legacy and people's expectations.

Callum smiles at the younger man when their eyes meet, taken back by Mick's blinding grin as he returns the gesture. 

Someone hustles closer to him, Callum glances to his right, finding Rob shaking. 

_Nerves_ , Callum suspects. He rolls his eyes fondly, "Come on, you big baby. Let's distract you."

Rob looks at him, gratefully, and lets Callum leads them out of the room.

Callum feels eyes on his back, heavy but not perturbing.

He ignores it.

He cannot.

——

He groans as Rob runs around, taking a selfie with every available stuff. It's funny at first. Callum snapped a photo of them with a Sebastian Vettel cutout. Now, Callum just wants to drop down and sleep. 

He wishes Marcus is here. The Kiwi is better at tolerating Rob's bundles of energy, matching them with his own.

Callum rolls his eyes as Rob almost trips on empty air, trying to reach the trophy cabinet too excitedly. 

"I don't fancy telling them I let you die on my watch."

Rob turns his head around, harrumphing exaggeratedly, "Shut up."

Callum's phone buzzes in his pocket.

He picks it up, opening the notification to read the message. He sighs, "Come on, puppy, they're going to start the meeting."

Rob pouts, "Now?"

"No," Callum answers, faking his annoyance, "Next week."

"Are you ready?"

Callum stares at the Russian, bewildered, "Ready for what?"

"The free practice, stupid," Rob replies, shaking his head.

Callum lets the lie slips out, "I am."

He thinks of another blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy standing in front of him, confessing that he's nervous.

Callum swallows the truth.

Rob only stares at him, grave, eyes older than he actually is. No words pass between them. But, Callum knows that Rob understands.

Unlike Mick, who believes him at his word.

_Two's a company, three's a crowd._

He can share this with Rob.

He doesn't think Mick will understand.

That's a lie. 

Mick understands far more than he lets on.

——

Callum smiles as he passes the Ferrari crew, hoping it doesn't look like a grimace. They nod back at him, encouragingly patting his shoulder.

He heads to the table in the corner, where he can see everyone but no one can see him. He stops at his track, someone beats him to it.

Mick looks up, eyes wide, a flash of something before it disappears. 

Callum greets the German, "Hello."

"Hi," Mick returns, tone strangely shy.

Callum raises an eyebrow at that. He shakes his head and points to the empty seat next to Mick, "Is it taken?"

Mick gulps like he's terrified — Callum frowns, _is he that terrifying?_ — and shakes his head, "No, it's empty."

Callum sits down.

They remain in silence. 

Mick stares at his phone, forehead scrunches up in concentration, scanning through the number and data. Callum looks around, trying to find something to distract him. He still has an hour to kill before free practice starts.

Mick glances to his left, seeing Callum nervously wring his hands, eyes darting around.

"You'll be fine," he says, eyes directed back to his phone.

Callum stops fidgeting next to him, "I know. _I know_ ," the Brit murmurs back, voice strained.

Mick shrugs, "The worst you can do is spinning the car, or impede someone else on their fast lap."

Callum lets out a strangled laugh, strangely comforted by the turn of the conversation, "Not helping, Schumacher."

"Don't worry too much," Mick persists, somehow making it his personal mission to support Callum, "You've done this before."

"Yeah, but it's different," Callum points out, "This one will make or break my future."

"What was the saying? Do your best, God will do the rest?"

Callum looks, really looks at Mick, perplexed, "You believe that?"

Mick shrugs again, and Callum wants to scream, wants to shake the other man so he'll lose his composure. Instead, Callum sits with his hands balled into fists on his lap.

"People believe whatever they want to believe, don't they?"

Callum leans forward, instinctively, fascinated, curious, "What do you believe in?"

Mick's jaw clenches, staring straight into Callum's eyes, "Myself."

There is something rough in his gaze.

There is something beating wildly inside Callum's chest.

——

Callum grips his steering wheel tightly, nodding at whatever the engineer tells him. His eyes focused on the small screen, watching hungrily as Mick makes his way around Nurburgring.

Something ignites inside him.

"I want to drive," he breathes out, softly, hesitant.

He snaps his head to the engineer, louder, more confident, " _I want to drive_."

The engine roars to life.

Callum comes alive.

All thoughts of Mick fall away.

Thoughts of Mick spur him forward.

——

Callum sits there on the table, near the window that faces the paddock.

It's raining outside. Callum watches everyone hurries away, trying to evade the rain. Some stroll slowly, holding an umbrella. 

Someone plops down next to him, "Good job out there."

Callum doesn't need to turn around to know who they are. It is familiar.

 _Strange_ , considering they've never been the closest in the bunch. They shouldn't have shared this easy camaraderie like this. Somehow, they do.

Callum ignores the pleased shiver running down his skin.

"Not so bad, yourself," he quips back, eyes still on the rain.

Sebastian and Lewis are standing outside, laughing and joking around. Callum thinks how odd it is, growing up watching them being rivals, mere strangers who share a passion, to this, perhaps close friends to each other.

Funny how shared experience brings people together.

 _It sounds familiar_ , Callum thinks wistfully as he glances at Mick, only to see the other man staring boldly at him.

His brain short-circuits for a moment.

"You think we'll be like them?"

It is eerie how easily Mick manages to read his mind. Callum feels like he's under surgical light, having his skull cracked open and his brain up for display. Mick interlaces his fingers together, stealing Callum's attention to those long, lean fingers.

_How does it feel to have those fingers running across the bare plain of his back?_

Callum clears his throat, "What do you mean?"

Mick shrugs — Callum remembers wanting to shake the other man for it, now he only observes it with something dangerously bordering fondness — "British and German multiple world champions?"

Callum grins at the thought, "You think we can do it?" The idea of Mick imagining them, one day, being multiple world champions spreads warmth all over him. More than driving an F1 car for free practice could ever be.

Mick shakes his head, his voice firm when he says, "I _know_ so."

The logical part in Callum, the sceptic in him, scoffs at that. But, Mick holds his gaze, solemn, and Callum trusts him.

Callum will trust him with anything.

It doesn't sound as terrifying as it should be.

——

They don't meet again for two months.

Callum feels the loss keenly, like being sucker-punched and hollowed out.

He flutters around the house, trying to find something to distract him. Marcus looks at him, confused but remains silent. Knowing if the older man wants to say it, he will. 

His thumb hovers Mick's contact, hesitating every last minute. Callum types and deletes and retypes a single _hi_ , feeling like a broken radio. There should be books about it — a manual to tell him what to do.

He asks Marcus instead.

"How do you," Callum begins, "How do you — _Fuck_ ," he curses, frustrated, failing to find a word to describe his situation.

Marcus' eyes go wide like saucers, "You're asking me how do I fuck? You know I love you, but we agree we're not that compatible despite popular beliefs."

" _No_ ," Callum snaps, "I'm asking you how to deal with crushes."

" _Oh_ ," Marcus exclaims, clapping his hands in delight, " _Itty bitty Callum has a crush?_ "

Callum groans, "You know what? Forget it."

He rises from his seat, still clueless as a child, and heads to his room.

"Are you going to call them? Say hi to them for me."

 _I will if I can say hi to him for myself first_.

He flips Marcus the bird without looking back.

——

Mick reaches out to him first.

It baffles him, considering how private Mick is.

Callum posted a picture of dinner, with Marcus on the background, in his Instagram story. Nothing weird, nothing out of place. But, Mick comments.

_Say hi to Marcus for me._

His throat parches, all of a sudden. He peeks at Marcus, seeing the younger man struggling to open the beer can. Biting his lip, he quickly types a reply back before he loses his nerves.

 **_He says hi back_**.

It's not a lie. Marcus did say it a few days ago. 

_Nice dinner, you have there_.

Callum snorts, eyeing the pizza and the beers laying around.

 **_Could've been worse_**.

 _Beats mine_.

Callum tilts his head, **_What are you having?_ **

The reply's instantaneous, _Some salad_.

 **_Poor you_**.

 _Might cave in and order pizza, instead_.

 **_Do it !!!_ **Does he sound too excited?

_I don't have anyone to share it with._

Callum swallows, chest tightens at the simple remark. Before he can type a reply, Marcus calls out, "Are you gonna eat or what?"

"Yeah," Callum answers, distractedly.

 **_Sorry, gtg_** _._

_No worries._

Callum worries until he falls asleep.

——

They move from Instagram to simple texting.

There are periodic messages now and then.

Once, Mick accidentally sent him a video of him training. Apparently, it was supposed to be for his trainer. Callum couldn't focus on anything else for the rest of the day.

Callum sends pictures of Marcus, of the small garden, of their dog. Sometimes, he complains about the rain. Other times, he confides in how he misses the bustling crowd, the traffic noises. It's all so silent now.

Mick sends him pictures of his dog, of the garden his mother cultivates. He snaps photos of his childhood pictures, all cheeks and softness. Mick recommends his favourite songs, asking for Callum's opinions. 

There are memes exchanged, animal videos that make Callum wants to build a sanctuary for them. There are funny videos, ones that dissolve Callum into laughter, ribs aching.

But, there is Mick.

And, it's better than any video could ever be.

——

They never address the championship fight or any talks about F1 seats.

Callum brings it up on a call one night.

"Have you," he coughs, "got a seat?"

There's no reply from the other line.

"Mick?"

There's a sound of a throat clearing, "Yeah? Sorry, wasn't listening."

Callum repeats his question.

"No," Mick answers, "Not yet."

"What are they waiting for?" _What are you waiting for?_

"For me to win the championship," Mick remarks, steady and sure, like it's just a fact that everyone knows.

"Will you?" Callum's voice turns sharp, the bitterness visible as a sun.

There's no answer. But-

_"Did you just shrug?"_

"Sorry," Mick mumbles back.

Callum laughs, "Yes, you are," sarcastically.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Mick's tone becomes defensive, and Callum snorts, suddenly angry. He knows, deep down, it's not Mick's fault. But his anger wins over common sense. All he wants to is to lash out. 

"It's just," Callum starts, the words begging to be let out, "Championship or no championship, you'll get a seat, anyway. _You're a fucking Schumacher_. You don't need to win it."

"And, what," Mick comments, relentless, "You want me to gift it to you? Do you need me to wrap it with ribbons too? Want me to write a card to accompany it? _Here, my Christmas gift for you. The fucking Championship_."

Callum swallows, harsh, " _I-_ "

"Fuck you," Mick states, faltering for a second, "I thought you were different."

The line goes dead.

Callum sits there for hours, staring at his phone. He throws it to the wall, watching as it comes apart.

Marcus finds him there, red eyes and a broken phone on the floor.

Marcus finds him there, a broken heart of his own creation.

Marcus finds him there and sighs, "What have you done this time?"

The truth is a terrible, _terrible_ thing.

——

Haas comes calling a week later.

They offer him a seat.

Callum sits with his back against the wall of his bedroom, a new phone in his hand.

He says, "Yes."

He should be happy.

He misses Mick, instead.

——

They meet under Bahrain skies.

Mick wins.

Callum comes fourth.

There's a resentment gurgling in his blood, wrapping its talons around his neck. But, Mick grins, the same radiant grin he gave Callum in Fiorano a lifetime ago. And all resentment dissipates into waves of comfort, into seas of peace.

He's not satisfied, but he can be happy.

He can always be happy.

—— 

"You were wrong," Mick confronts him after the sprint race.

Callum just won, Mick coming third — another podium on his belt. Callum sobers up, not expecting Mick to go after him like this. He notes, mesmerised, the tick in Mick's jaw, the set of his shoulders.

"Hello," he replies, drunk on his victory and Mick's presence, speechless on what to say.

"You were wrong," Mick repeats, eyes stormy.

Callum nods at the accusation, "I know."

"No, you don't," Mick emphasises, stubborn, eyes locked on Callum, "I'm a fucking Schumacher. I don't need to win. I _want_ to win."

They stare at each other. Mick tilts his jaw, unyielding, all hard plane of a surface. Callum stares, unblinking, lips parted like he wants to say something. A confession, an admiration.

Callum kisses him, instead, hard and with intent.

All the words he wants to say, poured into a kiss.

Mick kisses him back, hands clenched on Callum's shirt.

All the word Callum wants to hear, whispered through their joined lips.

——

In another life, Callum would have arrived late, or really early to Fiorano.

In a different life, Callum would have a more reliable car, better luck, a championship to prove it.

This is not that life.

Instead, Callum has this.

Someone to share his life with, the highs and the lows of their passion.

Gentle hand encased in his own, bright blue eyes filled with understanding.

He never has rooms for regrets in his life, anyway.

——

"I want to have a garden," Mick whispers as they lay on the bed, entangled. Callum cracks an eye open, listening in silence.

A heartbeat passes before Mick speaks again.

"Imagine getting home to all those greenery scenes. A haven from the outside world. A place to retreat to when racing gets too hard."

Callum says nothing, but he tightens his hold around Mick, not to suffocate the slightly younger man. Just a sign.

_I'm here. I'm listening. I got you._

Mick snuggles deeper into Callum's embrace, lips against Callum's neck, murmuring drowsily, "We'll have that one day, yeah?"

Callum kisses the top of Mick's head and promises, "We will."

He can feel Mick's lips curving into a smile against his skin.

He sleeps peacefully, dreaming of Mick with his nails dirtied by warm soil, sweat trickling down his forehead as the sun glares down. He thinks of flowers, of all vegetables they'll plant.

Callum sleeps peacefully.

——

(+1)

"We look like a personification of angels and devils," Mick grumbles, holding his white racing suit up for inspection.

Callum peels his gaze away from his reflection on the wall, the black suit fitting his figure seamlessly.

He laughs at Mick's pout, "Does that make you a fallen angel? Consorting with the devil and stuff."

Mick rolls his eyes, "You're a mess."

"Come on, angel," Callum whispers, half-serious, "Let's get you corrupted with some wicked fun." 

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, reaching for his boyfriend.

Mick sighs, despairingly, "Why do I put up with you?" But lets himself be caught up in Callum's embrace all the same.

The suits lay on the ground, forgotten.

——

(+2)

"Good luck on the race today."

Callum looks up from the papers in his hand. Mick stands there in his team shirt, holding a mug, a beaming smile on his face.

"Spying on rivals on the first race?" 

Mick juts his lower lip in a mock aggravation, Callum grins fondly, "Who let you in here?"

Mick shrugs, "I've been told I'm very charming, it's not my fault they can't resist my charm."

"Should I be worried?"

"No," Mick shakes his head, "I only love you."

There's a pause.

They haven't said it before, perfectly content with what they have. Those are just words, he knows, but Callum can't deny the heady pleasure it gives him.

Callum blinks, "Are you trying to throw me off my game?"

Mick relaxes, the corner of his lips twitches into a ghost of a smile, "Is it working?"

Callum nods, trying to look grim, but his eyes twinkling, "Too well."

"Good."

"Good."

The younger man laughs, "Oh, come on, you," before he steps forward and kisses him. Callum smiles, happily kissing his boyfriend for an entire five minutes. 

"That's one hell of a good luck kiss."

Mick raises an eyebrow, "Who says anything about good luck kiss? It's the _I hope you have a safe race and stay behind me all the time please_ kiss."

Callum bursts into laughter, "Love you too."

They finish P8 and P9.

**Author's Note:**

> i said slow burn but callum says i'm gonna fall in love the moment he says he's nervous to me :) but i'm writing this with mick having a crush on callum in my mind i'm sorry if i made it too subtle no one caught it hjshs ALSO I ALMOST MADE THEM P1 AND P2 BUT REALITY SAID BABY LET'S BE REAL didn't say who's p8 and who's p9 i'm leaving that to your imagination, anyway if you stick around until the end wow thank you <3


End file.
